Faith
by Kim11
Summary: Lt. Reed struggles with a difficult personnel issue


Disclaimer: Everything in the Star Trek universe is owned by Paramount.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Faith  
  
  
  
  
Lieutenant Reed stood uncomfortably before the Captain's desk and held out a padd. "Sir, these are my recommendations for changes to the security protocol."  
  
"Thank you, Malcolm." Captain Archer took the padd and read a little before setting it down. "Trip's been working on ways to modify the sensors and has some ideas to run by you."  
  
"I just got my copy of his report. I believe they could go a long way in preventing this kind of incident in the future."  
  
"Well, I've scheduled a senior officer's meeting tomorrow so we can start getting all this hammered out," Archer said wearily. He leaned back in his chair and looked at Malcolm. "You know, learning on the fly like this can be pretty rough."   
  
"Yes, sir." Malcolm hesitated before continuing. "On another topic, Captain, I've decided against the commendation for Ensign Stewart."  
  
"Oh? You want to tell me why?"  
  
"Well, sir, as thought about it, I realized the case for a reprimand may be just as valid. More so, actually."  
  
Archer's expression hardened. "And?"  
  
"I'm not considering that, of course. But the commendation doesn't seem appropriate, either."  
  
"Looks like our command styles are even further apart than we thought." He seemed to weigh the matter for a moment and then sighed. "You know I try to let my officers run their departments the way they see fit. It's your decision."  
  
"I appreciate that, sir. This isn't easy."   
  
"No, I don't imagine it is," Archer answered, softening his tone a bit. "Anything else?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Okay, Lieutenant. Dismissed."  
  
*****  
  
As Malcolm made his way back toward the Armory, his despondency deepened. He could see now that he had counted on the Captain interceding on Stewart's behalf. "Blast it all," he said to himself. Did he really want to leave it like this?   
  
He leaned heavily against the wall of the turbolift. In the last few days he had gone over the incident in his mind repeatedly. Continuously. His thoughts were a jumble, an intolerable situation for someone with his responsibilities.  
  
An anger simmered inside him and also a nagging guilt. He seemed unable to set them in their proper places.  
  
Not knowing where else to look, he kept trying to see if there had been something else he could have done. Something, that is, besides the numerous items that would have required a crystal ball, like not assigning Stewart to the Armory that day. Or perhaps not even having her on the crew.  
  
No, he wouldn't go that far.   
  
Throughout her assignment on board she had proved to be hardworking and intelligent, well trained in tactical and extremely competent in munitions.   
  
But also reckless. Never with the safety of other crewmembers, quite the contrary there, but maddeningly cavalier about her own. Reaching into live high-power equipment, running after unexploded test ordinance, the list went on and on. If it continued, he had told her, she would never be considered for away missions, and even her career could be at risk. His tough stance on the issue did seem to be making an impression. Not a lasting one, apparently.  
  
So perhaps he should have tried to get to know her better. But he had done that, to some degree at least. As much as he could.  
  
That had come about after an incidental conversation concerning T'Pol's Vulcan martial art. "I wanted to join her new class," he mentioned to her, "but T'Pol told me it was geared toward advanced students."  
  
"Subtle as hell," Stewart replied. She also seemed to have quite the mouth, even for a North American.   
  
"I have an idea," she told him. "Why don't you join our group. It's just a few of us. We get together three times a week and work out."  
  
Ensign Williams was nearby and added his voice to the invitation. "You know, a little sparring, some defensive stuff. It's a lot of fun."  
  
"We have a good bunch of styles represented, so there's always something interesting going on," Stewart said. Malcolm knew she had trained for many years in an old Japanese style of karate.   
  
It seemed an admirable use of their free time and he believed attending on even a limited basis might be a good show of support. He hesitated, though, wondering if this would qualify as fraternization. "I'll take it under consideration," he told them. "I'm sure it would do me some good. It may be fair to say that hand-to-hand has never exactly been my strong suit."  
  
That had been too much for Stewart to resist. "Sir, permission to speak freely?"  
  
Malcolm looked sidelong at her. "Denied." But he added, "When do you meet?"  
  
*****   
  
If the others were as surprised as he when he put in an appearance, they didn't show it. They made him feel quite welcome and got right down to business.  
  
Although the session was structured informally, the atmosphere was intense and he was struck by the serious nature of their training. He had observed them during mandatory combat exercises, of course, and their skill had been apparent. But here, pursuing their passion, they seemed transformed.  
  
At one point he watched in amazement as they discussed in great detail the finer points of a spear hand strike. They each contributed, and editorialized on, variations from different styles, including a few alien forms. It reinforced his appreciation of the black and white operation of energy weapons.  
  
Finally they seemed ready to call it a night. He felt at once both wrung out and pumped, looking forward already to the next workout. Then someone called over to Stewart. "Show us what you're learning in T'Pol's class."  
  
The Ensign draped a towel around her neck. "Oh, I don't know," she said. "We're not really learning much yet. At this point she's more interested in toughening us up with run-of-the-mill plyometric torture sessions."   
  
"Come on," Williams urged.   
  
Stewart thought a moment and then looked at them. "Okay. Will someone help me?"  
  
Everyone volunteered. "I'll do it," Malcolm said, raising his voice above the others. Stewart tossed the towel on a bench and motioned him over.   
  
He stood facing her, eager for a glimpse into the mysterious Vulcan art. "How's the leg?" Stewart asked, indicating the one skewered by the Romulan mine.   
  
"Fine," he answered. "Perfectly fine."   
  
She nodded and requested he come in with a straight punch.  
  
As he did, she blocked it with an economical motion and caught his wrist, a fingertip finding an exquisitely tender spot between small bones as she twisted it over and hyper-extended his elbow. He bent awkwardly as he involuntarily came up on his toes.  
  
"That's just Aikido," one of the others said.  
  
"No, not exactly," Stewart replied. "See the grip?" She moved his arm to give them a better look.   
  
"Yes. It looks very... logical," Williams wisecracked.  
  
"And this pressure point is a new one," Stewart continued, "for me at least. Feel that, sir?"  
  
"Yes," Malcolm replied.  
  
A young crewman, a beginner the group had taken under its wing, cocked his head as he scrutinized the technique. "What could the Lieutenant do to get out of a hold like that?" he asked.   
  
"Well, probably lots of things," she answered. "But they'd most likely leave him needing Dr. Phlox's orthopedic skills."   
  
The crewman chuckled a little before noticing everyone else was serious. "Even though he's stronger than I am, overall," Stewart continued patiently, "I'm stronger than these particular joints I have locked up in his arm. He'd have to go ahead and let me break something."   
  
"Getting out of a submission hold," Williams explained, "usually depends on what they've got you by and whether or not you're willing to sacrifice it."   
  
"And you might not want to wait too long to ruminate over it, or you could find yourself in worse shape." She turned Malcolm's arm the other way, causing him to shift his weight, and stepped in for a leg sweep. He landed soundly on the mat, looking up at the rest of the group. She had maintained the grip on his wrist and dropped down next to him, levering his once again hyper-extended elbow over her bent knee.   
  
"Snap," she said as she gave his arm a faint push, punctuating it with a backfist that grazed the bridge of his nose.  
  
At this point he tapped out and she let go. After they rose to their feet, she gave him a small, courteous bow. "Arigato gozaimashita," she said. It seemed tradition ran deeply in some martial arts, an element that certainly resonated with his Royal Navy background.  
  
"You're welcome, Ensign," he answered.   
  
*****  
  
He managed to become a semi-regular in the group, finding his way there at least once a week. On several occasions he even joined them in the mess afterwards. There the conversations remained primarily focused on martial arts, or sometimes work. When personal topics came up he simply sat back and listened. In this way he was able to learn more about them without participating in inappropriate socializing.  
  
So he had no regrets there.  
  
Perhaps if he had been in the Armory that day.   
  
Another crystal ball item, and there was no choice involved anyway. He had to be at his station on the Bridge to keep an eye on the large ship to their port side. It was a transport vessel, no armaments to speak of, filled with colonists just starting their a long journey to a new home. He hadn't met any of them himself, but he heard they were an unusual race, with grayish-green skin and large eyes that gave them a certain amphibian quality.   
  
Captain Archer was giving a small group of them a tour of the ship and Malcolm was trying to track their whereabouts. He had assigned one security officer to follow the visitors and another posted by the alien's shuttle. Everything seemed under control.  
  
The group was nearing the end of their tour when Stewart's voice broke in on the comm. "Stewart to Lt. Reed."  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"Sir, one of the colonists just wandered into the Armory." Following protocol, she set her comm to remain open hands-free.  
  
"I just saw him go in there," Williams broke in without preface. "I'll take care of it."  
  
"Escort him out and seal the door," Reed told them. He was about to add to that, but saw that Stewart had already locked out the controls on the targeting scanner. Weapons locker should be secure. He scanned the room in his mind, looking for other ways this alien could cause problems.  
  
"Stewart, what's he doing?" Reed asked.  
  
"Sightseeing."   
  
Only a few seconds went by, but they seemed to crawl as he listened to the comm. Then a whoosh he recognized as the Armory doors opening. Over Stewart's comm, he heard Williams speak once to the colonist, then again more firmly. And then an expletive.  
  
"He has something. A device," Stewart said.  
  
"Be specific, Ensign."   
  
"It's an explosive. He has a detonator in his other hand."  
  
Malcolm punched the comm and called to Archer. T'Pol had risen from the captain's chair and stood on the other side of the console. The aliens voice could be heard shouting.   
  
"Ensign Sato, what's he saying?" T'Pol called over.   
  
"It's a different dialect. The translator is having trouble," Hoshi answered. After a moment, she said, "'Get away' or 'get back.'"  
  
"He wanted Williams out," Stewart reported.   
  
Archer was calling for more information and Williams was breaking in again. T'Pol stepped away to answer them, leaving Reed to focus on the Armory. "What's going on?" he demanded.   
  
"The alien's by the door, I'm still at the console," Stewart replied. "He's giving me a good look at the bomb." Reed heard a little clatter and the whirr of a portable scanner.  
  
"Careful, Ensign," he told her.   
  
Her voice was calm. "It's okay, sir, he seems to know what I'm doing. Looks like he's awfully proud of the thing." She paused. "And he should be. It's enough to blow out several decks."  
  
Then it was Reed's turn for an expletive. "Ensign, don't do anything to alarm him. Don't do anything without an order."  
  
"Don't worry, Lieutenant," she answered. "I won't. His detonator has a dead-man's switch."   
  
Malcolm looked at T'Pol. She had heard and was informing the Captain. Rushing the Armory was now out of the question.  
  
"He's moving," Stewart reported. "Circling around." A few seconds of nothing. "He's on the other side of the torpedo rack." A faint thunk. "What the hell? He just planted the device on the tail of the torpedo. Moving back to the door. And... whoa there, he's got another toy."  
  
"Ensign..."  
  
"Sir, he has a weapon. Particle, of some type, hand-held. Can't tell much more. I only have an end-on view of it."   
  
He heard the alien start chattering excitedly and looked over at Hoshi. She concentrated for a few moments and then said, "'That ship or this one.'"   
  
T'Pol turned back to her own comm and again apprised Archer, who responded that he was headed for the Armory with two Colonist officials.   
  
Reed keyed his comm. "Ensign Stewart."   
  
"Still here." He could hear the alien's agitated voice in the background.   
  
"The alien seems to want us to fire the torpedo on the other ship."  
  
"He's making that much clear," she said. "He seems to know what everything in here does."  
  
"Probably scanned us."  
  
"We should be monitoring for that kind of thing."  
  
"No argument there, Ensign." He heard a long series of raps in the background and more chattering. "What's going on?"  
  
"He's at one of the other monitors for the targeting scanner," Stewart answered, "trying to keep me focused on the task at hand."  
  
"Just hang on. The Captain is on his way to negotiate."  
  
"Terrific. Glad to hear it. That'll work."  
  
"Let the Captain do his job," he told her, but his mind was racing.   
  
"Well, here he is now," she said. Malcolm heard shouting from the alien and then more thumping. He caught bits of Archer's voice from the corridor through the door, but couldn't understand what was said.  
  
Stewart broke in again. "The Captain's cracked opened the door. One of the other Colonists is trying to talk to him." He could hear the Captain a little better now, and he also listened as Hoshi laboriously translated for the Colonist negotiators and then relayed their part of the conversation to Archer and T'Pol. It was an awkward setup, at best.  
  
After a few minutes he heard Stewart again, close to the comm, speaking in a low voice. "So, what's the story on this eight-ball?" she asked him.  
  
He had been hoping she wouldn't ask. "It seems he's part of a small religious faction that believes none of them should leave their homeworld."  
  
"This just gets better and better. How'd he get away from the tour group?"   
  
"He was apparently hiding on their shuttle," Malcolm told her. "Wagner was on duty there. He got brained, but should be all right."   
  
There was the sound of a new ruckus in the background. "The Captain tried to get the door open a little more," she informed him. "The alien just put a magnetic lock on it. Damn, what else has he got in his pockets?"   
  
She said nothing more for quite a long while as they both listened to the aimless high-pitched dialogue.  
  
Then she spoke again. "Hell of a submission hold, Lieutenant," she said. Malcolm thought perhaps she was lapsing into small talk to calm herself. "You know the thing about getting out of those. What it takes."   
  
Her meaning was immediately clear. "I know it's hardly a universal truth that drastic measures are always required," he told her.   
  
"Well, nobody's been able to come up with any bright ideas yet."  
  
"Stewart," he replied, "let's just give the Captain a chance before we resort to anything radical."  
  
"How much warning do you think this guy's going to give us before he decides this is all for nothing?"   
  
"Ensign, no." Maybe staying on the Bridge was his mistake. But what could he have done down there, stuck in the corridor outside the Armory?  
  
"You need to trust me, Lieutenant. The ship is at far too great a risk." Recalling that line of hers always made him wince.  
  
"It's not time for that," he growled.  
  
"Listen, sir, I'm the one with the front row seat here. This s.o.b. isn't listening to a damn thing they're saying out there and looks pretty much like he's ready to stroke out or something."  
  
"Ensign Stewart, remain as you are. That's an order."  
  
"There is only one way out of this, and you know it," she said. Or was that his voice? In a stinging spasm of memory, he saw himself on the hull of the Enterprise, pinned, arguing with Archer, reaching for his own air hose.  
  
"Hey there," Stewart was calling out. "Mr. Alien Terrorist, could I interrupt your yammering for just a second? What do you say we forget about this negotiation crap and get this show on the road." Malcolm looked at his console and watched helplessly as the lockout indicators blinked out. He couldn't re-lock them himself fast enough to stop her. "See? I'm targeting. You win." His scanner monitor showed she had the other ship right in the crosshairs.  
  
There was loud shouting from the alien again. Hoshi called across the bridge. "He says 'no tricks.'"  
  
And Malcolm heard, and felt, the launch of the torpedo and its stowaway bomb. Shocked silence fell over the Bridge, a quiet so deep that many there were able to hear Stewart's voice over the comm as they watched the viewscreen.   
  
"Would you look at that," she said. "I missed."   
  
As Malcolm expected, she had misaligned the scanner.   
  
And the next sound he heard was the sickening whine of a particle weapon. He had expected that, too.  
  
Malcolm's stomach twisted as he fixed his eyes on his console, watching the wayward torpedo. It had traveled a safe distance from the bulky transport ship and he toggled the abort lever, prompting a brilliant flash on the viewscreen. He quickly checked some readouts and looked up at T'Pol. She was gazing at him, waiting. "Go ahead," she said, and he was off to the Armory.   
  
And that had been where he was headed today, after leaving the Captain's ready room. Instead, he found himself in his quarters, seated at his desk, staring at the wall. He couldn't shake the image of the Captain looming over him on the hull or the sound of his furious tirade.   
  
He had defied Archer that day, willing to sacrifice his own life for the sake of the ship. As Stewart had defied him. And there was the rub.  
  
Stewart had done the same thing he had.   
  
And he was angry, just as Archer had been. But at Stewart? Maybe. Himself? Definitely. After all, their situations hadn't been quite the same.  
  
For starters, unlike him, she had probably been right about their options. But they would never quite know that for sure.  
  
And no one was there to stop her. No one to do what the Captain had done for him.   
  
He had learned that Archer had started forcing the Armory door open as soon as the torpedo was launched. The alien was firing as Williams pushed past the Captain into the room. As the weapon was being turned on them, he delivered a devastating kick that sent the alien crashing into a panel of wall-mounted instruments. The damage there left clear evidence of Williams' raw fury.  
  
When Malcolm reached the Armory he found one group of people surrounding the crumpled heap of the alien. Another group near the empty torpedo rack hovered over Stewart. Dr. Phlox was among them and looked up as he approached. "She's alive," he said. His tone was enough to clarify her condition, but he said it anyway. "Barely."  
  
He suddenly thought of another difference in what they had each done, and he had to admit there might be a lesson for him in it. In the last second Stewart had still not quite given up. She managed to provide the alien with a moving target, denying him a clean shot.   
  
But the weapon was unusually insidious, rendering extensive neurological damage in addition to severe burns at point of contact. In the days that followed, Dr. Phlox did what he could, stating at last that yes, she would survive, but offering no hope of a complete recovery.   
  
T'Pol had arranged for a ship to take Stewart to a Vulcan facility where she believed the Ensign could receive the best possible treatment. The weapon was being sent as well, in the hope that its study would provide helpful information. Malcolm had gladly agreed to that, as the analysis of the weapon would otherwise have been the duty of his department. His people didn't need that right now.  
  
That thought brought him into the present and he focused on the blank computer screen on his desk. The decision didn't seem so complex anymore. He knew what he wanted to do. "Computer begin recording," he said, and the screen came to life. "Open template: Recommendation for Special Commendation."   
  
Before Malcolm could say more, his comm beeped. "Archer to Lieutenant Reed."  
  
"Go ahead, sir."  
  
"Malcolm, I'm planning an away mission to a planet just ahead. It has a pre-warp civilization that should prove interesting. Hoshi's on board already and we were wondering if you'd care to come along."   
  
"Yes, Captain, I would. Thank you." The distraction would do him good. He sighed and looked back at the screen. "Computer, continue. Recommendation for Special Commendation. Name: Ensign Faith Stewart." 


End file.
